


Marching By in Ones and Twos

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:31:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t that Nepeta doesn’t cherish blackrom just as much as red, but she’s certainly nefur had a real chance at it. Between Equius’s overpurrtection, and her own petite stature and admittedly nonthreatening mannerisms, she had just never really been approached with caliginous intent befur. She's inexperienced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marching By in Ones and Twos

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to be held accountable for the catpuns, I was wrangled into it by outside forces.

It isn't that Nepeta doesn't cherish blackrom just as much as red, but she's certainly nefur had a real chance at it. Between Equius's overprotection, and her own petite stature and admittedly nonthreatening mannerisms, she had just never really been approached with caliginous intent befur.

So when Dave calls her up at two in the morning, drawling in metafurs so long and rambling that even her roleplayer's brain starts to lose track of the thread, she doesn't catch on to what he's saying. The way his words begin to mash together at the ends, his peculiar dialect sliding out again, doesn't help. All she can really get is that he's feline really bad, and angry, and guilty, and she curls around her phone and lets him rant until finally he makes his the point, almost fifteen minutes later.

"An', you know I'm not that kinda pimp, right? Like, I'm not gonna just let some busybody, 3d shades wearing asshole up onto this train when it is clearly marked occupado, no matter what he pulls with the fuckin' eyebeams. I shoulda stopped him 'fore it happened, though, and I'm sorry. He just, augh! He ain't even that fast, just fuckin' gets me off guard an'." Dave falls silent, breathing static through the phone, and Nepeta waits, beclaws a hunter must be patient and carefully judge her pounces, and also, beclaws Dave scares too easily when he gets like this. Still, she is considering letting her eyes droop closed again by the time he spits it out. "So Sollux fuckin', we mighta got in a fight and, I don't fuckin' know, made out a little, I guess? It was kinda-"

She can't hear what else he is saying, and pawsibly he can't hear it either, beclaws she's squealing too loudly, rolling neatly out of bed and diving fur her markers all the while.

"Oh, Dave! I'm so happy fur you! Ahhh! I've been waiting fur aaaaages to fill in that spade!"

Equius had convinced her to let him cover a whole wall of her respiteblock in some paint that the humans made specifically fur turning walls into drawings, and even though it had taken a while to get used to making her charts in dusty, sneezy chalk instead of blood, it was pawful convenient fur times like this.

"Nepeta! What is the matter, are you quite all right?"

"Oh noooo," she hissed into the phone, cutting off Dave's probably furry impressive metafur about her caterwauling like a confused anime babe or something. "Dave I have to go, I woke up Equius and you know how he gets! Heehee, tell Pawllux I said congrrratulations! Maybe if you're not supurr busy with him tomorrow, you can come over and we'll celebrate!"

Equius flipped the light-switch just as she cut the call with Dave, which was a silly gesture beclaws they could both see perfectly well without it.

"Nepeta, what is the cause of all this commotion?" He demanded, and the lack of his usual fervor did make her feel guilty fur a moment, black chalk forgotten and she slunk over towards him. She'd been trying to let him sleep late, after all! As far as she could tell, yesterday and tonight were the first sleep he'd gotten in nights and nights.

But he didn't look upset, really, more relieved that she wasn't doing anything 'foalish.'

So she pounced the last few paces to hug him tightly, and cheered, “Dave and Pawllux are in hate, and it's going to be meowgnificent!”

* * *

The next night had been spent, primarily, trying to explain to Dave why she was so excited fur him. He seemed mostly suspicious, even guilty! Which was silly, beclaws what was there to be guilty over?

But Dave, much as he tried to hide it, always seemed really confused about quadrants. Maybe beclaws he was human? He'd been really confused when, after their matespurritship had reached it's half-sweep anniversary, she'd refused to move into his hive beclaws she was already living with Equius, after all. But Rose seemed at ease with it, and since most of the other humans seemed to have such a hard time with meowraillegiance, and Dave understood it at least well enough to accept that she wasn't ever going to try pailing Equius or anything stupid like that… Maybe it was the pitch quadrant in particular? The events on the meteor after her death weren't exactly a common talking point, but efurryone knew about Gamzee and Terezi.

That was probably it.

In the end, though, her whole great big lesson on caliginous conduct came down to Dave actually taking off his glasses- which he almost nefur did- and just asking if it was okay with her.

Which, of course it was. But he just looked so furry, furry pitiful. Her confused, lost, sad human scared that he was doing something wrong, and it had ended up devolving into hugs, and then kisses, and then their clothes ended up somewhere on the recreation block floor and. And he really _had_ been busy with Sollux that morning, hadn't he?

She's always loved looking at him. Enough that she even took a figure drawing class once- just the one time, beclaws it had been horrendous, but still- so that maybe she could make the version of him tucked away on the portion of her drawing wall that the door always hid when it was open to actually capture something about him. About the way he was just alien enough to confuse her senses, but so furry troll otherwise. And he is exquisitely pitiful, all those vicious, fighter's muscles bunched together beneath skin that blooms with bruises and tears beneath claws with only the barest push. But that doesn't stop him, just makes him value speed over strength.

She's seen injuries on him before, sparsely, after he's gotten into a practice fight with Dirk or their inconveniently same-named ancestors. Big, flat bars of bruises from them wide sides of their swords, or paper thin cuts that dripped bright, unnaturally red blood if he moved enough to reopen them. But those were nothing like these. Ragged trails of four across his shoulders, pocked with puncture marks at the ends, and heavy, irregular bruises that she couldn't help resting the heel of her hand against, feline the swelling that bumps perfectly against her palm even as she curled down to lave at the shiny pink flush of starbust burns along his chest.

He is so furry gorgeous. He is a fighter and a knight and he could and would burn the world down if he needed to, and she is so dangerously, deliriously glad that he finally has someone of his furry own to push him and lead him and make him even better. beclaws the better he is, the more addictive the way he lays himself out before her judgment becomes. Everyone knows pity is born from seeing the worth in someone that they don't see in themselves, after all. And now he has someone who can make that worth grow, and she can glide her fingers along his sides and treasure the fact that he is so furry purrfect and will only be moreso in nights or perigrees or sweeps.

And when she straddles his hips, finally, her delicious cat-alogue of efurry new and startlingly attractive mark on him completed, she takes care to pour that pity and that love into every careful roll of her hips, taking the staccato, deadeningly regular pace he prefers. And Dave, beclaws he knows her too, after all this time, even notices what she's doing as her breathless mewls become more and more desperate, her bulge lashing helplessly until he winds it between his fingers, and manages, somehow, not to fall into a matching rhythm that would leave her desperate and unsatisfied.

It's so furry difficult to override biology, they nearly never bother, preferring to take turns, but this is a special event, and Nepeta almost thinks, and she can feel her throat seizing up, wracked by desperate chirps and purrs and forbidding anything resembling words, that maybe just the sight of him, wrecked beneath her and starved fur her approval, would have had her shaking her way desperately through her orgasm even if he hadn't be able to resist.

By the time her eyes agree to actually focus on things, Dave has gone paralytic, stock still save fur the desperate thudding of his heart, the heart she owns, beneath her hand, and the matching shiver deep within her nook. It isn't her favorite feline in the world, but certainly it makes the top three, the way the autonomous twitching feels almost like a bulge, and the vicious hunger of her seedflap drinking in all he has to offer her, even if it isn't quite enough to satisfy the ache. But it doesn't matter, beclaws it's all underlaid with the heady knowledge that she did this to him, fur him.

After that, they curl up together on the couch and doze fur a while, Dave no doubt exhausted from everything that's happened since the night before and his frantic phone call, and Nepeta always ready fur a catnap against the furnace of Dave's chest.


End file.
